Eagle-Eyed Insight
by Tathrin
Summary: Some routine surveillance reveals more about the watchers than the targets when Rachel and Marco grow bored during their mission.


_**Just a little snippet from a while back that I'm posting in honor of my Hallowe'en costume last week-end...**_

 _ **NOTE:** If you have been reading my _ Green-Eyed Snake _story, please check my author's profile for an important announcement!_

* * *

 **Eagle-Eyed Insight**

I powered my big, wide eagle wings through the air, flapping hard until I found a nice, warm thermal to carry me up higher.

[Hey], I said.

Above me an osprey jerked, wobbled in midair, and then resumed its lazy, soaring flight. Birds don't really show emotion, but I've spent a lot of time anthropomorphizing them; convincing myself that they can, and that I can read it when they do. I don't know if I'm just fooling myself, but I'm pretty sure that this particular bird looked ticked.

[Jeeze, Rachel!] Marco, sounding every bit as peeved as I thought the osprey looked. [Warn a guy next time!]

[I thought I just did.] I was pretty sure my thought-speak voice sounded smug. Certainly I felt it. [Anyway, what are you so twitchy about? Did I catch you playing peeping-tom on some poor, helpless girl again?]

[I would never engage in immoral behavior like that,] Marco said immediately, his own thought-speak voice making it clear he didn't mean that.

If I could have rolled my eyes, I would have. Instead I flapped over a little closer–not too close, because birds of prey don't really hang-out together, and we didn't need anyone getting suspicious. But close enough that I could point my binocular-like bald eagle eyes along the same angle that Marco was looking.

[So who's your dream girl today?] I asked.

He didn't answer right away, probably leery of my reaction. I know Marco expected me to get mad, and I might have; certainly I'd given him grief before about his habit of using his morphing-capability to spy on hot chicks. And I genuinely did think it was a disgusting, invasive habit. But it was the middle of the afternoon, broad daylight. Anyone who was prancing around in their underwear without shutting their curtains right now…well, they didn't _deserve_ to be ogled, of course not, but they could really only blame themselves for making it so easy. It's not like osprey-Marco was the only one who might be looking in an open window. I'd always known to shut my curtains before I changed clothes, even _before_ I made friends with a boy who could turn into a bird and had the manners of a pig.

For a few minutes we just floated there on the nice, hot air that filled our wings, then Marco shifted his tail feathers and turned his head, indicating a rough direction with his beak. [There,] he said, [third house down that street, green shutters. Hamster in the bedroom.]

I looked. There was a teenage girl lying on her bed in a sports bra and sweat pants, her feet kicking idly at the air, a book open in front of her. Her hair glistened like someone had dumped slime over her, then washed her skin clean of the goop. I looked closer, and would have grinned if I'd have lips. She was dying her hair. With my eagle eyes I could easily read the box sitting on the adjoining bathroom's sink, and I scoffed; that was a terrible brand. She was totally going to have clumps and streaks. _Should have gone to a salon_ , I thought snidely.

Then my attention was caught by a much more interesting sight: a dude who had to be the girl's brother, pushing a lawnmower around the corner of the house. He shared her rich, golden-brown skin and lanky figure, but his chest–and oh yes, I could see his chest, because it was a warm day and he had apparently decided that yard-work was too hot and sweaty for shirts, thank you weather gods!–was nothing but muscle. I spent a few moments appreciating the way his sweaty skin made the abs gleam, then sneaked a glance at Marco.

[Good choice of house, Peeping Tom,] I said. [Nice to see that if you're going to goof-off during a mission, you at least strive for equal-opportunity ogling possibilities.]

Marco said nothing but his feathers ruffled uncomfortably. I braced myself for turbulence, but the warm air remained thick and calm. If I'd had eyebrows, I would have raised them. [Don't get your tail in a bunch,] I told him sharply, [I was kidding. You think I don't know you can count Chapman's nose-hairs if he looks up? Chill out. It's me, dumbass, not Jake. It wasn't a lecture.]

We were only doing surveillance, after all. And as birds or prey, with their awesome eyesight, predator's focus, and interest in movement, there was absolutely no way that Chapman was going to be able to slip away from our watch even if Marco spied on twenty girls while he was waiting for the Yeerk to move.

That's what we were doing up here: waiting. Waiting and waiting and waiting. For two days now, we'd done nothing but wait. Hawks and falcons and eagles during the day, owls at night. Floating in the skies above Chapman's neighborhood, waiting for him to make a move. Tailing him whenever he left his house. Keeping watch in overlapping shifts of ninety-minute intervals.

Slowly dying of boredom.

Honestly it was no wonder that Marco had taken to peeping in windows. I'd watched three-and-a-half television shows myself during my turns on watch, invented a game with Cassie where we bet on which flowers would be visited by more bees, and almost been driven to avian-somnambulism when I made the mistake of asking Ax a question about Z-space. I'd also played I-Spy with Tobias until he realized that he always picked prey-animals and got embarrassed. If there had been cute guys lying around their bedrooms topless, I can't imagine I'd have stopped myself peeking in on them. At least not unless Cassie was around to judge me.

[I know,] Marco said. I was startled for a moment; I'd almost forgotten we'd been talking, it had taken him so long to reply. His thought-speak voice sounded strange, strained.

I grinned to myself–in my thoughts, not with my big eagle's beak–and figured that he was just grumpy because the brother was hotter than the sister. Good for me, bad for him.

So of course I decided to tease him. Because that's what Marco and I do. We bait and needle and scoff and sneer. It's actually pretty fun, and most of the time I really like Marco, believe it or not–although I try hard not to show it. That's okay, because he does the same to me. If we ever had to really admit that we liked each other, that we were friends…well, it would probably just make things awkward. Because we so totally are _not_ friends; we just happen to have mutual friends and furthermore to be fighting on the same side in a war. Which, as they say, makes for strange bedfellows, although I'd sooner gnaw my own leg off than kiss Marco. Yuck.

I needed a quick distraction from _that_ line of thought, and fortunately I had one: [Oh, don't tell me you're grumpy because you've realized that it's _not_ an equal-opportunity ogling-fest? Hey, you picked the house, man, not me. Next time, don't choose one with an okay chick and a super-hot dude, and you won't have to be jealous.]

Marco didn't say anything, just grunted. Okay, _that_ freaked me out. When did Marco _not_ have a less-than-witty retort prepared? When did he let me get away with scoring a verbal point without at least _trying_ to retaliate? Something was obviously wrong.

If I was Cassie, I'd have just asked him what it was. Or maybe talked gently about something else until I'd lured him into opening-up, and then I'd listen sympathetically, say something nice, and make him feel better. If I was Jake, I'd just deflect by talking about Batman or basketball or something, and somehow that would translate into a conversation about their feelings–but I don't do "guy speak," and I'm not even convinced it's a real thing. I suspect that they really _are_ just talking about Batman or basketball, and just _pretend_ that it's code for feelings. I think they're faking it.

But whatever, it's not something I can do either way. And I'm _definitely_ not Cassie. So the only thing I could do was keep teasing him until he snapped at me and gave-away what was really bothering him. So that's what I did.

[Unless of course, you're _not_ jealous,] I said, taking care to make my thought-speak voice sound like I was smirking. [Is that it? Did I interrupt your ogling of beefcake-McLawnmower-boy? I have to say, if so, then you have good taste in men, Marco. That is one fine specimen of humanity. Hey, I have an idea! Why don't you go see if he'll let you acquire him? He looks like a nice guy, he'd probably take pity the minute he saw your scrawny, pathetic bod. Then you could morph him the next time you're trying to impress a girl.]

[Ha, ha.] A sarcastic laugh, which was definitely progress even if it sounded forced.

[No, I'm serious. Morph lawnmower-boy and girls would be so attracted to your new, hot body that it would probably take _two_ or even _three_ jokes before your personality repulsed them!]

Silence again. Okay, something was _definitely_ wrong. Marco would _never_ let me get away with saying that without putting up at least a _little_ fight. But there was nothing; no quip, no insult, no horribly bad joke. I was getting seriously worried now, worried enough that I lost the impulse to tease.

[Marco what's wrong?]

The osprey fluffed its feathers, dipped its tail, and circled down a few feet lower in the warm air. I stayed where I was, letting him have his distance. My eagle's eyes were trained completely on Marco now, not so much as glancing at either the hot lawnmower boy or at the house where our target was hiding. If Chapman left I'm sure I would notice–but right now I hardly cared. Marco mattered a lot more than one filthy Yeerk, although I wasn't about to tell _him_ that.

Well. Not unless he _really_ needed me to.

Waiting for his answer was frustrating enough to make me start fantasizing longingly about biting some Hork-Bajir limbs, but eventually he spoke. His thought-speak voice was faint, as if there was a lot more distance between us than it looked like there was.

[What if I wasn't jealous?] he said. [What would you do then, Oh Mighty Xena?] He laughed, a snide cackle in my head.

I stared at Marco–glared at him really, but with an eagle's face, I can't do much else–and tried to work my way through that one. Okay, so he clearly wasn't joking, even though he'd just as clearly tried to make it sound like he was. But he'd laid the sarcasm on too thickly, even for him. So he meant what he'd said, but didn't want me to _know_ he meant what he'd said? He was deflecting the truth using the truth?

I started to get angry. Teasing, insulting, baiting–yeah, that was all fun. At least with Marco, who always gave almost as good as he got. Sometimes gave a little better, even, although I'd never admit _that_. But verbal games? Bullshit with words? That was my mother's thing, not mine. I like straight-forward, I like up-front, I like in-your-face. I don't do well with this double-layered meaning crap.

So instead of playing along, pretending that Marco had fooled me, I just said, [Well then I guess I'd have to start telling you not to use your morphs to peep in at naked dudes instead of at naked ladies.] My voice was short and so was my temper.

Marco didn't say anything. Then, quickly: [I was kidding. Duh.]

[Whatever,] I sneered.

More silence. We soared on the thermals, letting the hot air do the work for us. I think we both avoided looking at the house with the green shutters. Maybe we felt guilty for our lackadaisical surveillance of Chapman; maybe we just didn't know what to say about the hot siblings we'd been spying on. Maybe I was just scoping the area for my old friend, Fluffer McKitty.

Eventually Marco spoke again. This time his thought-speak voice sounded thin and panicky. It set my nerves on edge, but I gritted my teeth–metaphorically.

[You don't know what you're talking about. Shut-up. You're such a brain-case, Rachel. Totally coo-coo for cocoa-puffs.]

Coming from anyone else I probably would have taken that as an insult. But weak and pathetic though the attempt at offending me was, it at least sounded like Marco–or a pale imitation thereof, anyway.

[Right,] I said drily. [I'm a nutjob, and you _haven't_ been staring at lawnmower-dude's abs for the last ten minutes.]

[Only 'cause you keep _talking_ about him,] Marco retorted immediately. [I'm not Cassie, okay? I don't want to listen to you mooning over some guy. Yuck.]

I laughed. [Cassie wouldn't want to listen to that either,] I said. [She'd either decide that looking was disloyal to Jake–never mind that they're _not_ actually dating, or at least neither of _them_ think they are–or that my looking was disloyal to Tobias.]

[Isn't it?] Marco asked. He sounded better, more like himself. [Tell you what, I won't say anything about it. About lawnmower-dude. We'll forget this whole afternoon happened, and then bird-boy won't get mopey. It's a big favor though, so you'll owe me one.]

[Please,] I snorted, [you think Tobias would mind? If he were here we'd be making bets on how many other hot guys there are in this neighborhood, and whether or not lawnmower-dude is in the top ten, and then he'd help me scope the area to find out.] Marco didn't have a clever reply to that one. [Tobias isn't threatened by some nobody's washboard abs,] I added smugly.

I wasn't even lying. I didn't know if it was because he'd been artistic back when he'd had hands, or if it was something he'd learned from spending so much of his time watching humans from afar, but Tobias was an excellent judge of human attractiveness, both male and female. And when you spend most of your dates flying above the world, like he and I do, you learn to entertain yourselves by making games out of watching things. And people. It was actually a lot of fun, more fun than people-watching with Cassie at the mall. She was way too judgmental of _me_ when I pointed-out other people's problems or mistakes. Tobias just joined me in laughing and making up stories about the strangers below us.

Obviously I'd realized that the only reason why Marco was offering to keep quiet was because he wanted _me_ to keep quiet, but it took me a few minutes to realize what _that_ meant. He _wanted_ me to keep quiet, not to talk about our afternoon's surveillance.

Duh, Rachel.

[Oh hey,] I said, [I get it now!]

Marco said nothing, but I noticed the distance between osprey and eagle was increasing, and it wasn't because I was moving away. I let him go; he was still plenty close for thought-speech, and with these eyes, I could be halfway across town and still discern a person's expression. Which birds don't even have, so whatever; let him flutter off if it made him feel better.

I kept talking: [Dude, do you think I care? Do you think the others would?] I ruffled my wings, a bird's shrug. [I mean, it is nice to finally understand why you've always been _so_ ridiculous about girls; I thought you were just pathetic, but you were actually compensating. Well, over-compensating. Whatever, point is, that makes a lot more sense. Not that you _aren't_ pathetic…]

When there was no rejoinder to that, I knew that Marco was still bothered. This was clearly a more serious issue for him than I'd realized. I wished then that I'd just kept my big mouth shut. Or beak, whatever. I wished I had some of that empathy that Cassie is always going on about, or even Marco's more pragmatic sort of insightfulness. But no, I was just me: blundering, blunt, brash Rachel. Always speaking–or acting–before I thought, charging in full-speed-ahead with all the grace and subtlety of an African Elephant.

Oops.

[Hey, boys are hot,] I said, trying in my own awkward, fumble-fingered way to make it better. [I know that. I'm just surprised that someone as dense as _you_ can recognize the attractiveness of the male form. It must be the osprey eyes, giving you clearer vision than usual. It's the only explanation.]

[Yeah,] Marco said, finally answering me. Finally! [Plus, I think this bird is definitely a chick. Yuck. Next time we choose morphs, I'm checking under the tail first. There is definitely too much estrogen in my system. Next thing you know I'll…I'll find myself taking up knitting, or gushing about nail polish and boy bands, braiding Ax's hair…]

I laughed. [Yeah, you wouldn't want to get soft,] I said, deeply concerned.

[That would be bad,] Marco agreed, matching my earnest tone. [The last thing we need is me getting soft like a girl. Like _you_. One of you is enough.]

I laughed louder. [It certainly is!] I agreed, although not of course because I was soft. I was probably the hardest of the Animorphs, and Marco knew it. Although if anyone could challenge me there, it would be Marco himself–although apparently we shared an appreciation of shirtless dudes as well as a certain ruthlessness of purpose. Cool.

[Yeah, I'm sticking with male morphs from here on out. Girls just mess with my head.]

[Marco, Marco, Marco…hasn't anyone ever told you? Of _course_ girls mess with your head. They mess with all boys' heads; it's because we're your natural intellectual superior, so we can't help it. I mean, in your case, it's pretty easy 'cause there's only two or three brain-cells to juggle…]

[Ha, ha.] Now _that_ was the sarcastic laugh I was used to. [Of course, if that's the case, it does beg the question of how intellectually inferior _you_ are that you have to settle for messing with a bird-brained boy's head…]

[Bite me, Marco.]

[No way. I have enough girl-cooties right now. I'm not ingesting any more. Especially soft, helpless, damsel-cooties like yours.]

I was still snickering three minutes later when Tobias flapped up to relieve Marco. He soared off with one last quip: [Try and keep your eyes where they belong, Rachel. That dude's sister looks like she could take you.]

[HA!] I said. [As if!]

[What dude?] Tobias asked.

I could see Marco's tiny osprey body tense. I thought a moment, then decided to do something nice. What, like I can't be nice? Cassie doesn't have a monopoly on it or anything, I can be nice!

Anyway, Marco and I had a sort of understanding when it came to being the ruthless side of the team, so I figured I could be nice to him without him thinking I was going soft. So what I said to Tobias was, [Okay, you can't tell Jake because he'd go ballistic thinking we were goofing-off on surveillance, so this is just between us.]

[Fine,] Tobias agreed, [my non-existent lips are sealed. Besides, Jake doesn't understand how a bird of prey's eyes work; you would have to take goofing-off to a whole new level to lose track of Chapman from up here.]

[Exactly,] I said. [Okay, so Marco was spying on this chick, and it turns out she has a _totally_ hot brother who's mowing his lawn right now without a shirt.]

As I directed Tobias's sharp eyes to the green-shuttered house where lawnmower-dude was just starting on the last row of un-mowed grass, I thought I heard a faint whisper in my head. It sounded like "thanks." I shook it off, sure I'd been imagining it. And so what if I wasn't? "Thanks" wasn't what we did, so I ignored it.

I'd just have to make sure to come up with something _really_ insulting to say to Marco at the Animorphs' next meeting. He'd know what I meant.

And then he'd say something even worse.

Ah, friendship.


End file.
